Death by Magenta
by Empatheia
Summary: [Ryuzaki] And the moral of this story is, never play strip poker with Ryuzaki Sumire.


**A/N: **Written for **tremuloushand**'s birthday. Intentionally cracked out and awful, so please don't be lame enough to flame.

Enjoy!

-Eia

**xoxoxoxoxox**

_**Death By Magenta**_

**xoxoxoxoxox**

And the moral of this story is, don't play strip poker with Ryuzaki Sumire. Ever.

xxxx

"Absolutely not," Hanamura said firmly, being wiser than her pompous demeanor tended to let on. "Not a chance."

Ryuzaki Sumire smiled into the handset of the phone, and though Hanamura couldn't possibly see the smile, she had a talent for making it audible. "I'm inviting a few other people."

"Good luck."

"...Including Sakkaki."

The silence on the other end was deafening, and Ryuzaku suppressed the urge to chuckle out loud. Really, young people were so easy to manipulate.

There was no graceful way for Hanamura to admit defeat. "Fine. I'll be there." _Click._

Ryuzaku _did _chuckle then as she set the receiver down. _One down, two to go_.

xxxxx

"Absolutely not."

"Hanamura's already agreed to come," Ryuzaki said calmly, running her fingers through her ponytail. "Are you afraid of losing to a woman?"

Deafening silence.

"...Fine. I'll be there."

Sakkaki, if possible, was even easier than Hanamura. And the last phone call wouldn't be an argument, so she leaned back and smiled broadly. The stage was practically set.

xxxx

"I'm holding a little strip--"

"Coming."

"I thought you might. Sunday at six. You know where my house is."

xxxxx

Tennis coaches were always so punctual, she mused as Sakkaki and Hanamura showed up simultaneously, glaring sulkily at each other and pointedly not speaking.

Except for Oiji, but Oiji was Oiji so that was to be expected. He was twenty minutes late, by which point Ryuzaki had managed to get a cup and half of sake into both Hanamura and Sakkaki, relaxing them considerably.

"This is a terrible idea," Hanamura said to him, and he nodded gravely.

But both of them knew it was far too late to back out now. If they did, Ryuzaku would make a point of telling every single one of their students first what their coaches had almost taken part in, then put emphasis on how cowardly they were for backing out. Not precisely logical, but compelling nonetheless.

Ryuzaki brought out the cards and the chips and sat down at the free side of the low table.with a devious grin. Time to have some fun.

xxxxxx

"No. I refuse."

"Sakkaki-_sensei_, that's against the rules," Ryuzaki chided gleefully. "You lost the hand. Off with it."

Sakkaki's face was a mask of blank horror, but he crumpled and neatly unbuttoned his shirt to let it fall to the floor around his hips.

Hanamura licked her lips.

xxxxx

Oiji smiled enigmatically.

"Please, no," Hanamura whispered under her breath.

Ryuzaki bit her lip to keep from laughing. Oiji hadn't needed to lose that hand. He'd done it on purpose, because Oiji was Oiji. The pants went flying with a dramatic flair, and mentally scarring smiley-face drawers were bared to eyes that had never wanted to see them.

"I lose!" he crowed triumphantly.

xxxx

Fuji Syuusuke would probably kill to have his camera in there at the moment, Ryuzaki mused. Four prominent tennis coaches, sitting around a table decidedly drunk and missing most of their clothing. Except for Ryuzaki of course, because it was her birthday and she was pulling rank. Besides, she'd hardly lost a hand anyway. Her hair was down, her scrunchy having been first to go, and her jacket was neatly folded next to her, but other than that she was still fully dressed.

Hanamura, on the other hand, had only a few rather pathetic scraps of red lacy material that might pass as undergarments in Europe or America, but covered basically nothing.

Sakkaki barely seemed to notice his extreme state of undress, being too busy practicing acute peripheral vision while pointedly not looking at Hanamura.

Oiji wore one red wristband and his horrifying drawers, and the latter were in grave danger by the looks of the next hand.

Yes, she thought with a deep sense of satisfaction, Fuji would weep to know what he was missing.

xxx

"If you breathe a word of this to my students, Sumire, I will see you hang," Sakkaki garbled, gloriously sloshed but not quite enough so to be immune to the compromising nature of the situation.

"Oh, I wouldn't," she said gaily, "...probably."

"Oh, Su-mi-re," Oiji slurred, then pointed to the table. "You lose."

Ryuzaki sniffed. "It's my birthday."

"Oh, come now, you don't want to be a spoilsport, do you?" Hanamura wheedled.

Sakkaki nodded, eerily reminiscent of a canine bobble-head, the kind that sit on car dashes and grin dementedly.

Ryuzaki lowered her head and smiled. "Well, if you really insist. But you take responsibility for the consequences."

The identical looks of confusion were highly gratifying. She stood, back straight, and tore her green top off in one smooth motion to reveal a magnificent magenta creation in leather, well filled-out by her mature chest. It glinted in the low light and reflected in the awe-stricken-- or quite possibly horror-stricken-- eyes of Hanamura and Sakaki.

Oiji hemmed and hawed quietly to himself, grinning enigmatically and sizing her up without a trace of shame. "Nothing wrong there," he muttered, and snickered.

"The bottoms match," she informed them gleefully. "Win the next hand and I'll prove it."

Hanamura and Sakkaki instantly folded, opting instead to lose their remaining rags. They had not, however, counted on Oiji. He pressed intently forwards, pushing the envelope as far as he could without a hint of worry in his expression. Twin expressions of terror grew gradually on the faces of the younger two.

"I win," he said at last with a tone of deep joy.

Ryuzaki smiled and stood.

"No!" Hanamura whimpered.

"No?" Ryuzaki echoed. "Are you sure? You don't know what the alternative is."

"Anything but that," Sakkaki picked up.

Her eyes glinted. "Anything?"

They nodded in pathetic unison.

She turned and looked at Oiji. "Mutual victory?"

"Hmf."

"Wonderful. Prepare yourselves, you young whippersnappers!"

"Wha--" That was about as far as Hanamura got before she had a faceful of Oiji-_derriere_ and found herself flat on the floor.

Sakkaki found himself similarly attacked a split second later, but he was too slow even to say _anything._

Ryuzaki and Oiji cackled like a pair of aging twins. "Silver seat, brats."

Their only answer was a series of muffles moans emanating from their shiny new cushions.

"Game, set and match."

**XXXXXXX**

**A/N:** .:SHOT:.


End file.
